Walk On
by kymm
Summary: Frodo is hurt by an abusive relative, and doesn't know who to turn to. If you like Bilbo and Frodo scenes, then this is for you…) (9 of 23) (No, I'm not dead.)
1. Home

1 Walk On  
  
Part 1: Home  
  
Summary: Yes, another of the hurt-Frodo variety. This time Frodo gets beat up. :) If you like Bilbo/Frodo scenes, then this is for you…there is, however, NO SLASH. Not that I have anything against slash – I read some of it in fact – but this is not a slash fic.  
  
This is an alternate universe story, meaning that some of the events don't follow the book. I try to make it as canon as possible, however. :) I've had the idea of Frodo being abused by a relative for the longest time, so I made him live with Griffo and Dasiy Boffin, who would actually be his cousins on the Baggins side (since Daisy's father is Dudo Baggins, Drogo Baggins's brother). I just wanted to beat the crap out of Frodo (so mean) and this is in the scene that I thought up. So, er, I think about torturing fictional characters. If that what you're asking, then yes; in algebra class. Not that I learn anything anyway, lol…:) Enjoy.  
  
I was listening to U2 whilst writing, so I came up with the title "Walk On." One verse reminds me of some events that will happen later in the story. Oh well, I'll give you the verse right now:  
  
And I know it aches  
  
And your heart it breaks  
  
You can onky take so much…  
  
Walk on  
  
This takes place in summer 1384, so Frodo would be fifteen.  
  
  
  
=^=  
  
  
  
Frodo Baggins sat in the carriage that belonged to his cousin, Griffo Boffin. Three stout ponies that Griffo owned were pulling it. Frodo was normally not allowed to ride in the carriage, but today was an exception. They were going to Bag End.  
  
For more than three years – three long, painful years – he had lived with the Boffin family in the far North Farthing, near the Bindbole Wood. It was far away from his childhood home at Brandy Hall and equally as far away from his favourite uncle, Bilbo Baggins.  
  
After his parents died four years ago, Frodo was left an orphan. He had no siblings, and his many cousins and aunts and uncles at Brandy Hall were often too busy to watch him. Saradoc Brandybuck, the Master of Buckland, suggested that he go to live with his cousin, Griffo Boffin. Frodo could not see any advantage at that time (nor any disadvantage), but now, many years later, he could see no good in it. Griffo had several children and a wife. He would be no more than a nuisance to them. He knew that Griffo detested him.  
  
He wanted no more than to live at Bag End with Bilbo. He knew that Saradoc would not send him there since he, as a Brandybuck, had a severe distrust of people from the West Farthing, and the West Farthing Bagginses in particular. Frodo knew it no good to argue with him, so he was sent off far from his home to the Boffins like a piece of excess baggage.  
  
He rubbed the aching bruises on his back, feeling the pain from them seep into the rest of his body like a poison. He wondered how long he would be left alone for, in the back of the covered wagon, among the foul-smelling hay, how long it would be until Griffo wanted him –  
  
"Boy! Get up here!" roared the unkind voice of Griffo.  
  
Frodo jumped to his feet and walked as fast as his short legs could take him to the front of the wagon. There Griffo sat, holding the reigns of the ponies.  
  
"We're at Hobbitton, boy," he said gruffly. "Do you think you can make it to Bag End from here?" Frodo peered out into the countryside. It was no more than a few minutes' walk to Bag End.  
  
"I can make it, sir," he replied.  
  
"Good," he grunted. Frodo picked up his pack from the dirty floor of the wagon and jumped out.  
  
"Wait a moment," Griffo said. Frodo had started to run toward the path that led to Bag End. "I want you back here in town in two weeks at high noon. Don't be late, boy!"  
  
Yes, sir, thought Frodo to himself as he ran down the path. All he could think about was how happy he was to be where he belonged again.  
  
Frodo ran for several yards until he was reasonably sure that he was out of Griffo's sight. He slowed to a walk and turned around. Griffo was gone.  
  
Frodo breathed a sigh of relief and turned to face forward. The hot summer sun burned on his face. He realised suddenly how very hot he had been all day, especially under the tarp of the carriage. Beads of sweat started to form on his face as he walked on.  
  
Quite a few minutes passed and Frodo neared the welcoming home of Bilbo Baggins. The gardens were in full bloom. He often liked to sit amongst the flowers with Bilbo in the summer, just to think. He smiled as memories started to flood his mind.  
  
He reached the path that led up to large green door of Bag End. He ran eagerly toward it like a beggar would toward food. Going to Bag End was something that Frodo had learned to look forward to over the years.  
  
He knocked on the door, waiting anxiously for a response. After a brief moment, the door opened to reveal his dear, smiling Uncle Bilbo.  
  
"Hello, Frodo my lad! I was expecting you, you know," said Bilbo cheerfully. Frodo smiled. He was so very happy that he felt like crying.  
  
Bilbo opened the door further and gestured toward Frodo. "Well, what are you waiting for? Come in, come in!" Frodo laughed and stepped inside the large smial. The air inside was cool and Frodo welcomed it as it flooded onto his hot, sweaty face.  
  
Bilbo helped Frodo take his pack off of his back, and he said, "You look as if you've been running for the past hour."  
  
"No, only for twenty minutes," said Frodo. Seeing the surprised look on Bilbo's face, he added, "And not the whole way."  
  
"Did your cousin Griffo not take you here on his carriage?" he asked.  
  
"He did," Frodo replied. "But he had to run some errands in Hobbitton that could not wait, so he asked if I could walk for a while. I did not mind." It was a lie, but a believable one.  
  
"Well, all right then," Bilbo said doubtfully. For a second, Frodo thought that he would not believe him, for he seemed about to say something. But then he turned around and hurried down the hall. Frodo followed him.  
  
They came to a room at the end of the main hall of Bag End. Bilbo opened the door and Frodo followed him in. It was where Frodo stayed whenever he visited Bilbo, and it was one of Frodo's favourite rooms at Bag End. It was smaller than most of the other rooms at Bag End, and the most simple. There were no extravagant fireplaces, nor any hidden pantries or anything else that you might expect in a smial like Bilbo Baggins's. It was simply homey. It reminded him of his old room at Brandy Hall.  
  
Bilbo set the pack, which he was still holding, onto the bed. "I presume that you will want to unpack?" Frodo nodded, so Bilbo continued. "I think I shall go back to the kitchen to make us some supper, and perhaps you would like a bath later?" Frodo nodded, and Bilbo smiled.  
  
"I'm very glad to see you again, dear boy," he said.  
  
Frodo's face split into a beaming smile, and replied, "And I am glad to see you, Uncle Bilbo."  
  
More than you'll ever know, he thought. 


	2. Nightmares

1 Walk On  
  
Part 2: Nightmares  
  
[NOTE: Italics indicate dreaming.]  
  
The rest of the night passed uneventfully for Frodo. The supper was wonderful – a meat stew with vegetables – and far better than anything he ever had with the Boffins. The bath he also found wonderfully refreshing.  
  
Twilight had enclosed upon Middle Earth when Bilbo finally forced Frodo to go to bed. He argued that he was a tweenager, that he was fifteen years old, that he didn't need to go to bed, and that he wasn't tired, but it was to no avail.  
  
"I'm sorry, dearest Frodo, but what would your relatives say if I kept you up to the wee hours of the night?" Bilbo asked.  
  
Frodo attempted a smile as he trudged off to bed. "Good night!" Bilbo called after him. Frodo bid him a good night and went into his room.  
  
The bed was neatly made, and the small circular window near it was open. Fresh, cool night air was flowing into the room. He walked over to the chest of drawers and pulled out a freshly cleaned nightshirt. He slipped into it and crawled into bed.  
  
He closed his eyes, trying to drift off into sleep. He could not rid the thoughts that flooded his mind. A feeling of dread was upon him in knowing that he only had thirteen full days left at Bag End. After that, it was back to his life - a living, breathing nightmare.  
  
Frodo was never one to have feelings of pity for himself, and for that reason he complained never about his life to Bilbo. He was also, however, frightened for himself. Sometimes he found himself wondering if he would live to see the next day. He knew that was a ridiculous thought, but at times the beatings were so bad that he wondered.  
  
Whenever these thoughts crept into his mind, he would push them out. He thought himself incredibly selfish for even thinking such things. It wasn't so bad after all, was it?  
  
He rolled over onto his side and fell into a reluctant slumber.  
  
***  
  
1.1 "Are you working out there, boy?" Frodo could hear him calling, and he was very suddenly deadly afraid…  
  
"Yes, yes I am!" he shouted back. He bent over to pick a long weed that was sticking out of the garden ground.  
  
There was rustling…he was coming…quickly Frodo dropped to his knees and desperately picked weeds out of the ground…he was working…  
  
Sweat started to pour down his face as he neared…in the past seconds he had made a large heap of sickly weeds next to his feet.  
  
He was standing over Frodo now, watching him work…Frodo quickly and earnestly picked at the weeds. The pricklers on them were starting to cut painfully into his fingers…blood was flowing freely now…  
  
"Can you not work any faster?" he barked.  
  
"I'm trying," said Frodo with a tint of anger in his voice. He immediately regretted his tone…hoping beyond hope that he hadn't caught it…  
  
But he had. There was a sharp blow against the back of Frodo's head, and he grabbed him by the top of his curly head, dragging him up to his feet.  
  
Frodo saw Griffo's face clearly - large, fat, and oily, mumbling some words at him, occasionally hitting him across the face or pulling at his hair. He could hear his own voice, begging him to stop and leave him alone…but then he fell to the ground…how strange… he continued to fall beyond the ground, and he could still hear himself calling for help….  
  
***  
  
"Frodo…you're safe, I'm here…" Frodo could hear the voice, seemingly so far off, yet so close…  
  
"What?" Frodo heard himself say. His voice was hoarse and he nearly choked when the words came out. "Who…where…?", Frodo opened his eyes. The world was spinning and he felt slightly sick. He could see Bilbo standing over him, his kindly face creased in worry.  
  
"I could hear you screaming down the hall, my dear boy," he said softly. "Whatever were you dreaming about?"  
  
Frodo could feel himself blushing. He sat up quickly, eyeing Bilbo. He could see the fear and concern in his eyes.  
  
"I…" Frodo started, but then faltered. He didn't know what to tell his dear uncle. "I…I…didn't mean to startle you, I'm sorry…what time is it?"  
  
"It's nearly three in the morning," Bilbo said gently. "Don't worry over me, dear Frodo, for I am more concerned about you than I am with myself."  
  
Frodo felt the fear from the dream start to dissipate…the corners of his mouth tugged up into a smile. "Thank you, Bilbo, I'm very thankful for that…"  
  
"There's no need to thank me," he replied with a kind smile. "Now, why don't you tell me what your dream was about?"  
  
At this Frodo paused. "I was falling," he said faintly, "and it wouldn't stop. Someone was yelling at me and…" He stopped, unable to continue. The memories were too painful…he couldn't let Bilbo know…  
  
Bilbo sighed and sat on the edge of Frodo's bed. He put his arms around Frodo's shoulders, and Frodo leaned against him, feeling very at ease.  
  
"You do know that you can tell me anything?" Bilbo asked quietly. Frodo nodded.  
  
"I know, Bilbo, but I can't remember what terrified me so…." Frodo said. "I would just like to try to go back to sleep, even if I cannot. I am very tired."  
  
Bilbo hesitated for a moment, but then carefully pushed Frodo back down into the bed. He drew the covers up over him, and Frodo closed his eyes, breathing softly and slowly. Bilbo leaned over him and placed a soft kiss on his brow.  
  
"Sleep well," Bilbo said, "or at least as well as you can."  
  
"You too, Uncle," Frodo said.  
  
Bilbo got up off the bed and walked over to the door of the small room. Frodo rolled over, trying to get into a comfortable position. Bilbo hesitated for a moment, as if he wanted to say something, but then left, shutting the door swiftly behind him.  
  
Frodo immediately opened his eyes. He knew that he wouldn't be able to sleep any more that night. He was often plagued with nightmares, but never at Bag End.  
  
He hated the nightmares. They seemed so real. Sometimes they were of his parents dying, or of his tormentors at 'home.' Sometimes he even saw Bilbo hitting him across the head, telling him he was no good….  
  
He shook that out of his head, instead trying to concentrate on something else…one of Bilbo's tales, anything else…  
  
But he could not forget. Nothing could make him forget.  
  
He felt ashamed of himself, ashamed that he had screamed aloud that night. He felt ashamed of everything.  
  
He lived in fear of his relatives, even his dear Uncle Bilbo sometimes. At times Griffo was nice enough to him, but at others he would beat him mercilessly. If he wasn't working hard enough, as in his dream, he would be beat. If he said something out of place, he would be locked up. If he said something spiteful to his cousins, Griffo and Daisy's children, he would be starved for days at a time. Bilbo often commented on how underweight he was. He had always been a bit thin, but he had started to lose a tremendous amount of weight recently. He didn't want to tell his uncle because he didn't want to worry him. But he was also scared for himself, and what Griffo would do to him if he told Bilbo what Griffo did to him. He didn't know what to do, and he was scared.  
  
He stared up at the ceiling, thankful that he was there to stay and be safe – at least for a little while. 


	3. Worry

1 Walk On  
  
Part 3: Worry  
  
Note: Thanks for your reviews. I appreciate it. =) This chapter is pretty short, but I felt it was needed to inform the readers about Bilbo's feelings as it relates to the abuse. He suspects something, of course, and that it what this chapter will deal with.  
  
  
  
Just as Frodo had expected, sleep did not come again for him that night. For that reason, he was exhausted the next day. At breakfast he trotted into Bag End's spacious kitchen feeling as if an immense weight had been placed upon his shoulders.  
  
He sat at the small table. Bilbo was wake; he had called him for breakfast, in fact, which he was just finishing at Frodo sat down.  
  
"Good morning, Frodo…" Bilbo said cheerfully as he turned around. He was holding a large teapot, which he was apparently going to place on the fire to be heated. Frodo yawned and got up to help.  
  
"No, I can manage," Bilbo said, glancing quickly over at him. Suddenly, a frown came over his merry face. "You look exhausted, dear boy…I suppose you didn't get back to sleep after your nightmare?"  
  
Frodo shook his head. "I didn't – at least it wasn't a very peaceful sleep. I am very tired."  
  
Bilbo shook his head and sighed. "I do hope your next few nights will be better…I'd hate to have you dreaming horrible dreams every night…perhaps tonight I'll send you to bed earlier. I did keep you up rather late last night."  
  
"It's not your fault, Bilbo," Frodo said hastily. "From time to time I have nightmares. I don't know why, nor do I know how they come about…I usually don't scream, however." He smiled weakly.  
  
Bilbo handed Frodo a piece of toast and some marmalade. He patted him on the shoulder. "It is all right, Frodo…you need not feel ashamed. Every hobbit has nightmares from time to time. I've had some, too. I once had the most frightening dream…" His voice trailed off.  
  
Frodo looked up from his toast, which he had been nibbling carelessly, at Bilbo. "What do you mean, Uncle?"  
  
"Oh, it's nothing," he said quickly. Frodo said nothing, but he could see that his uncle was very much troubled, and not only for his sake.  
  
Bilbo walked away from the table to the fireplace. When he came back he was carrying the teapot again. He carefully poured some tea into his and Frodo's cups, politely asking if he would like any sugar or milk or anything else with his breakfast.  
  
As Bilbo put the pot back by the fire, he began to chatter amiably. The light-hearted conversation continued over the course of breakfast, and Bilbo seemed much more cheerful than he had earlier, and yet a shadow seemed to hang over him. Frodo could tell his uncle's moods almost as well as Bilbo could tell his. He could tell that something was still bothering him.  
  
Finally, when Frodo had eaten several pieces of toast, had drank many cups of tea, and eaten some eggs, Bilbo asked, "Aren't you still hungry?"  
  
"I have eaten, Bilbo…very much," said Frodo with a laugh. "More than enough, in fact. I am quite full."  
  
Bilbo frowned. "Are you sure? You always seem to be so thin and small, Frodo my dear, and so pale. But I suppose that I worry about you too much."  
  
"I'm fine," Frodo said.  
  
Bilbo nodded. "Yes, I know."  
  
They fell into silence. Frodo helped Bilbo pick up the kitchen and clean out the dishes. Bilbo had fallen silent and had a rather thoughtful look on his face.  
  
"What is troubling you, Uncle?" Frodo finally asked. He looked so distraught and uncannily thoughtful that it was beginning to scare him.  
  
Bilbo looked at him, an odd gleam in his eyes. "It's you, my dear boy," he said worriedly. "I have the worst feeling that you are not doing well. You are acting so strange, especially lately, and I worry about you."  
  
"You seriously do not have to worry about me, Bilbo," said Frodo, alarmed at the turmoil in his dear uncle's voice. He knew that, if Bilbo were to find out about his life at home, he would probably go mad. "I am very much well, and I will continue to be well for as long as I can perceive." Frodo smiled. Bilbo smiled back, and laughed.  
  
"I suppose you must be wondering if I am well," he said with a chuckle. "I just worry about you, especially since you are so far away. I suppose I must be driving you mad with all my worry."  
  
"I know," said Frodo softly. "I don't mind." He reached over and touched Bilbo lightly on the shoulder and smiled.  
  
There was a moment of silence in which the two stood like that in front of the fire. Finally, Bilbo said, "Well, I suppose that you should get dressed. We have a full day ahead of us. I was thinking that we could go for a walk, perhaps spend the entire day outdoors?"  
  
Frodo agreed to that eagerly. He approached the door and was about to go to his room when he remembered something. "Bilbo?" he asked hesitantly. "I was going to ask you…what was your nightmare about?"  
  
For a moment, Bilbo looked confused. Then he said, "Oh, that…well, I shall tell you a story tonight. How would you feel about camping outside tonight?"  
  
"I would love it!"  
  
Bilbo laughed. "That's what we shall do, then…go pack a light bag so we can start out as soon as possible!"  
  
Frodo hurried out of the room and to his room to pack. He was, for the first time in awhile, excited for the day that was to come. 


	4. The Hike

****

Walk On 

Part 4: The Hike 

__

Dedication: I dedicate this part of the story to my copy of _The Hobbit_ and my map of the Shire. Without them this chapter would not have been possible! =) 

Also, has anyone seen the picture of Grima Wormtongue? That guy is hot! :D No, I am not insane…

****

Once Frodo had packed enough supplies for a day and night in the wild, he and Bilbo set out. Bilbo stopped to see The Gaffer, the gardener at Bag End, about the locking of Bag End during their absence. 

When they reached the outskirts of Hobbitton it was nearing 11:00. Bilbo suggested that, since they were only going to be gone for a day and a night, they shouldn't go too far. He suggested that they journey to the Three Farthing Stone. Frodo readily agreed to this, since he had heard rumours that elves sometimes passed by, usually at night, on their way to the Havens to pass over to regions unbeknownst to Frodo. 

The morning passed by in silence, mostly, although Bilbo was prone to make some comment every so often about something or other. 

They stopped for second breakfast about half way to Bywater Pool. The meal was quite silent. Frodo nibbled on his food quietly, occasionally looking up to watch some birds fly by. 

Just as they were packing up to leave and standing up to stretch themselves out, Bilbo suddenly laughed. Frodo looked up curiously. 

"Well, Frodo my lad, I was just thinking that I passed by this very stone –." He pointed at a large stone sticking out of the ground not more than five feet in front of them. " – whilst running, without a handkerchief or hat, mind you, to the Green Dragon Inn to meet the dwarves." 

Frodo grinned. They started to walk forward, and Bilbo continued with his story. 

"I've told you that before of course, how I had to hurry out of Bag End so many years ago," he said. "That _was_ so long ago, though, although sometimes it seems as if it was just yesterday." He sighed. 

"I tripped over that stone," Bilbo said as they passed by it. "I've been careful to avoid it ever since, though I do not pass by here very often." 

"Bilbo," Frodo said, "You have never told me fully the account of your adventure." 

Bilbo looked back at him with an odd smile on his face. "Haven't I?" 

"You always tell me that you shall tell me when I get older," said Frodo. "I should like to hear more of it." 

"To be quite honest, Frodo, there is not much left to tell," Bilbo said. "I do not lie to you, and I tell you now that there is only one part I did not tell you about my journey." 

"What is it?" asked Frodo. Then, it occurred to him. "Does this have anything to do with your dream?" He was falling behind Bilbo by this time, so he hurried to catch up to him. 

"Why do you think that?" he asked casually. But Frodo could tell by his tone that the two were indeed related, so he pressed on. 

"You said once that some parts of it would be too frightening for you to tell me," said Frodo. "You said this morning that you had a nightmare once. I suppose the two things were fresh in my mind, so I guessed that they were related. Am I right?" 

"You are," said Bilbo, "although it was no more than a lucky guess. They are related, although the dream is about something I gained from that particular part of the journey. I suppose I can tell you the story. It's something that only one other got the full truth out of me about, I'm afraid." Then, almost to himself, he added, "It is precious to me." 

"What is precious to you?" asked Frodo, who was by now very much intrigued. But Bilbo did not respond, and they fell into a long period of silence, each falling into their own reverie. 

They did not stop until they had reached Bywater at noon. There they stopped for a light lunch at the Green Dragon Inn. (Bilbo pointed out where the dwarves were waiting for him on that day so long ago.) Frodo did not bring up the subject of the dream again, nor did Bilbo talk about it. They started out on the road again. They were walking at a slower pace by this time. Bilbo didn't seem to want to get to the stone very quickly. Frodo didn't mind, as he enjoyed quiet walks and he didn't get free from work at home very often to just walk. When he was outside he was usually working in the fields. 

It was past teatime and nearing dinner when the Three Farthing Stone was in sight. "Bilbo, do you think we'll see elves?" Frodo asked excitedly. 

"Perhaps," said Bilbo. "If they are on their way to Wood Hall. If they are on their way to the Havens to journey to the West then they generally travel more in the West Farthing." 

"What is in the West?" asked Frodo. He had heard Bilbo talk many times about the Havens, elves journeying to the West, and Valinor; but he had no clue what it really was. 

Bilbo laughed. "That is a tale to be told at another time, Frodo my dear boy. It is quite a long story." 

They reached the stone and set up camp around it. There was a light wind, but the air was warm as it neared sunset. Bilbo started a fire to cook the dinner, and Frodo rolled out the blankets. 

They ate a hearty meal of stewed herbs and potatoes. The Gaffer, Hamfast Gamgee, had prepared the potatoes especially for the hike. They were delicious. 

The stars started to shine over dinner, and Bilbo pointed out some to Frodo. Some were named by the Hobbits, and others he pointed out were named by the elves. 

  
"What is that star called?" asked Frodo, as he pointed to the brightest star in the sky. 

"That is the Star of Earendil," said Bilbo, "named after Earendil the Mariner. It is the most beloved of all the stars to the elves." 

Frodo looked up at the stars in wonder; he felt suddenly very insignificant and unimportant, being such a small person in such a big world. 

"I suppose you are still itching to hear my story," said Bilbo finally. Frodo looked up eagerly. "I will start it, then, and hope that it will hold your interest, for it is a very long tale." 

"You remember that I told you that after the company of dwarves and I entered the Misty Mountains, we were chased by Goblins out of the mountain. Well, I left out a rather important part, I'm afraid to say, and that is what I shall tell you tonight. 

"Dori, as you'll remember, was carrying me out of the mountains. But I was dropped, and I fell a great distance, before I fell on a rock, and it hit my head, and I fell unconscious…" 

Bilbo continued to talk, and Frodo listened, fascinated. He related to Frodo to finding of the Ring, in full detail, and it was the true story that Gandalf had forced out of him some years ago, not the falsified story that he had told the dwarves. 

When he had finished the full story of the riddles in the dark and Gollum, Frodo asked, "It that what is precious to you? The Ring?" 

"Yes," said Bilbo. "It is…very precious to me." A peculiar expression washed over his face, but then he suddenly laughed. "I have it with me, if you would like to see it." He drew out of his pocket a Ring. It was a plain, gold ring, and there appeared to be nothing special about it. 

"I expected that there would be jewels and things all over it," said Frodo, "if it was so precious." 

"Well," said Bilbo, "it is just one of my favourite treasures that I possess. It's useful, I daresay, when the Sackville-Bagginses come to visit." Frodo laughed. He leaned closer to Bilbo to get a closer look at the Ring, but Bilbo hastily put it back into his pocket. 

"I think that we have told enough stories for the night," Bilbo said. "I think it would be best for you to go to bed, so you do not have another nightmare tonight." 

"Wait a moment!" said Frodo. "What did your dream have to do with the finding of the Ring?" 

Bilbo hesitated. Then, he said, "Well, it was the oddest thing. I dreamt, not too long ago, that I was old – very old – and that I no longer possessed the Ring. That scared me enough, it being a treasure of mine, but I dreamt that you had it." 

"I had the Ring?" 

"Yes," said Bilbo slowly, "you had the Ring. I was…well, it was odd. I saw you, and another hobbit. You were older. You were walking through a bleak, desolate land, and you were in pain. I felt as if I had caused you a great deal of pain, my dear boy, and that's something I never want you to feel." 

"Oh, dear Bilbo," said Frodo gently. "I'm sure it was just a nightmare, like mine was. You could never cause me any pain, nor could some gold ring." 

Bilbo shook his head. "No, it seemed so real." His voice trailed off, and he said nothing for some time. "I think that we should be getting to bed," he said at last.

Frodo crawled away from the fire and went to his sleeping bag. Bilbo followed soon after, and he kissed Frodo upon his forehead. "Goodnight, dear Frodo. I think we shall set off for home early tomorrow morning." 

Frodo nodded, and he drifted off into a peaceful sleep. He was not disturbed by any nightmares this night, and for that he was very thankful. 

_____________

They set off for home early the next morning. Bilbo was cheerful again; he forced a large breakfast down into Frodo's belly, telling him that they weren't going to stop for second breakfast since he wanted to reach home quickly. 

They reached Bywater at noon, and after a hasty lunch, they set out on the road to home. They met the occasional farmer on the road, and they exchanged greeting. 

When they reached the outskirts of Hobbitton, however, one farmer that they met had more than just greeting to exchange. 

"Good day to you, Master Baggins," he said. 

"And the same to you, Rufus Proudfoot," replied Bilbo. 

"I just came from Hobbitton, sir, and it seems that there's a fellow lookin' for you, sir." 

"Really?" asked Bilbo. "And do you know who this fellow is?" 

"Well, me wife said that he's from up there in the North Farthing – queer folks up there, if you'll follow me. Well, he's looking for you, and for young Frodo, too. She said he was in a nasty mood when she met him." 

Frodo felt his stomach turn to ice. 

"He must mean that your cousin Griffo is here," said Bilbo. "How very odd. I thought that you were to stay for a fortnight, Frodo?" He glanced curiously at Frodo. 

"I – I thought that I was," said Frodo. 

"Well," said Rufus Proudfoot, "that's all I know about the matter. But I must be going, sir, to Bywater, so I hope that this Griffo fellow finds you." 

"Thank you, Rufus," said Bilbo. Griffo nodded and led his carriage down the path. Bilbo turned back to Frodo and asked, "Do you have any idea as to why Griffo is here already?" 

"I don't know," said Frodo. "He told me that he's pick me up in two weeks. I do not know why he is here so early." 

"I hope that you don't have to leave," said Bilbo, "because you've only just arrived." 

They headed toward the familiar landscape of Hobbitton, and Frodo dreaded each step that brought him closer to the town. 

They came to Hobbitton within a few minutes, and Bag End was only a few minutes away. Frodo felt as he was going to be sick; just thinking of going back so early was making him feel horribly nervous. 

Then, they reached the familiar gardens of Bag End. The Gaffer was weeding the front flowerbed, and he looked up as he heard the two approach. 

"Master Baggins!" he said, "And Mr. Frodo too! Mr. Griffo Boffin was just here. He's waiting up by the front doorstep for you. He insisted upon being let inside. But I told 'im you'd be by shortly, but he insisted that he wait by Bag End." 

"Thank you, Hamfast," said Bilbo. The Gaffer gave his the keys to Bag End, and they hurried up to the door of Bag End, and Frodo saw that Griffo was indeed waiting. He was angry, and that meant no good for Frodo. 

"Where have you been?" he snarled at Frodo. "I told you that you were to be picked up today at ten o'clock sharp!" Frodo was flabbergasted at this. It was a flat out lie! He was about to say that, but Bilbo interrupted. 

"It is not his fault," said Bilbo in alarm. "If there is any fault, it is mine." 

"When did he tell you that he would be picked up?" Griffo said angrily. 

"He told me in two weeks," said Bilbo. 

"I should have warned you, Bilbo, that the boy is a liar and is not all that he seems," said Griffo.

"That's what you told me when you dropped me off!" Frodo put in desperately. 

  
"That's a lie," Griffo snapped. He turned to face Frodo, and he shouted, "How dare you tell such lies, you no-good hindrance!" Then he reached out and slapped Frodo hard across the face.

Bilbo looked as if he was lost for words. He looked angry, indeed angrier than Frodo had ever seen him look before. Finally, he said firmly, without a trace of anger in his voice; "I do not think that was necessary, Griffo." 

"It's all right, Bilbo," Frodo said calmly. "I was wrong." 

"How were you wrong?" Bilbo cried. "What did you do that was wrong?" 

"I do not think that you have any right to be debating this," said Griffo shortly. "You are not the boy's guardian – I am – and you had no right to be tramping off with him in the wild. I do not think that we will take him to visit you for a long time."   
  
Frodo's mouth dropped open. "That's not fair!" he said. 

"I think that it is," he said, "because you lied and he has shown that he cannot be a responsible guardian, even for two days. Go in and get your things. We're leaving." 

Frodo stood there, dumbfounded. "It's not Bilbo's fault!" he shouted. His head was spinning in anger, and there were tears running down his face. 

"I don't care whose fault it is!" he shouted. "I told you to go inside and get your things, so do it!" 

Bilbo turned away from Griffo and unlocked the door for Frodo. Frodo stormed inside angrily and walked down the hallway to his room. He was so furious that he couldn't see straight. He gathered up his few possessions and went back outside. Bilbo and Griffo were arguing. He knew that Bilbo could do nothing, and that Frodo probably would not see him for a long time. 

There were still tears running down Frodo's face when Griffo shouted that he was leaving. Bilbo gathered Frodo into a hug and kissed him on top of his head. He leaned down and whispered into his ear, "Frodo…Frodo…I'll come for you –" He was jerked away from Bilbo by the top of his head by Griffo, and he dragged him off to the gate of Bag End. 

Bilbo stood on the steps of Bag End, at a loss for words. He did not know how he had missed it, because it was so plainly obvious to him now. There was something horribly wrong going on between Frodo and Griffo, and he did not know how to stop it. 

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	5. The Letter

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Walk On 

Part 5: The Letter

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Note: Perhaps I should call this chapter "The Long-Expected Update." I'm so sorry for the wait, guys! I promise that the chapters will be posted more frequently. :D As Alice Cooper said, "School's out for the summer!" Uh…anyway! Moving on…. 

Frodo and Griffo walked out of the grounds of Bag End. Frodo saw The Gaffer look up curiously from his garden, but he said nothing. 

Frodo saw that Griffo had left his carriage a little beyond the neat dirt path that led to Bag End. Frodo hurried towards it, knowing full well that Griffo would be more than a little angry with him. However, once they were out of eyesight of Bag End, Griffo grabbed him by the shoulders.

"I think that we need to have a little talk about your deceitful, scheming ways, boy," said Griffo with a trace of malicious humour in his voice. 

"I don't have any deceitful ways," Frodo said before he could stop himself. "I think that you're talking about yourself." 

The humorous look in Griffo's eyes instantly darkened, and he hardened his grip on Frodo's shoulders. He lifted up his hand to strike Frodo for his cheek, but Frodo twisted away and ran. He did not have the time to think to run the opposite way to Bag End; he was instead thinking of how to get away from Griffo. 

But it would not have mattered anyway. When he turned to run, his ankle was twisted and he fell over. A pain shot threw his foot instantaneously, and he could not move. He felt Griffo standing over him, but Frodo could only lie there and clutch at his ankle. 

"So," said Griffo angrily, "you want to degrade me with your smart words. But it turns out that although you are learned, you are too stupid to even run. Such a shame!" He snorted. "Get up!" He pulled Frodo off the ground and put him on his feet. Frodo gasped in pain and he fell over again. 

Griffo laughed and pulled him once again to his feet. "Come on, boy, walk! We have to get back to Bindbole before sunset, or my Daisy will worry. Hurry!" Griffo walked to the carriage, leaving Frodo hunched over in pain. 

Frodo was thankful that he didn't try to harm him, for he was already in a great deal of pain. He knew, however, that neither Griffo nor Daisy would help him with his ankle, and therefore it would take a great deal of time to fully heal. He cursed his stupidity for running and falling over. 

He limped to the carriage, feeling rather pathetic as Griffo continued to laugh at him. But inwardly he felt anger for being treated in such a way, and he knew that it couldn't last much longer. He went into the back of the foul-smelling carriage and collapsed onto its wet floor. He closed his eyes, and knew nothing more for several blissful hours. 

He was awakened by the shaking of his shoulders. He saw that it was Griffo, and he also heard shouting, but he couldn't focus in on what the voice was saying. 

"What?" asked Frodo blearily. 

"I told you to get up, boy!" shouted Griffo. Frodo blinked drearily and saw Griffo's face floating over him. Frodo jumped to his feet and winced, feeling the pain of his hurt ankle spread through him. 

"You've been asleep the entire ride!" shouted Griffo. Frodo flinched at the tone of his voice, and knew that he was in trouble yet again. For what, however, he had no idea. Perhaps it was for Griffo…just to have something to be angry at….

"What did I do wrong?" Frodo yelled, in a voice stronger than Frodo knew that he had. Griffo looked surprised. Usually Frodo didn't respond in such ways. Frodo himself was surprised…but the surprise faltered when he saw the glint of anger replace the surprise in Griffo's eyes. 

"What did you just say to me?" Griffo screamed. The sound of his voice passed through Frodo's ears, and he was once again aware of the sharp pain in his ankle. 

"I didn't say anything," said Frodo warily, wishing for no more pain, as the pain in his ankle was still increasing. He didn't know why; he had hardly trodden on it. Perhaps it was broken. It was too dark for him to tell. 

"Liar!" hissed Griffo. Through the darkness he saw a hand rise, and he knew that it was rising to strike his face. It came down and Frodo ducked. It missed his face, and instead it hit the crate that Frodo had been leaning against. He heard Griffo roar in rage. Frodo toppled into the crates. He staggered to his feet. As soon as he stood he felt the pain in his ankle nearly double. Moaning in pain and reeling like a drunken man, he limped away. But Griffo had noticed, and Frodo was no match for him. Griffo quickly grabbed Frodo by the scruff of his neck and threw him down into the crates. They fell on top of Frodo's already broken body. He heard Griffo march over. 

Frodo groaned and knew that it was over. He had lost again. 

He felt Griffo's fist hit him in the small of his back. His unkind hands jerked him to back up to his feet, and the pain of his ankle and now his back nearly blinded him. He saw the glint of madness in Griffo's eyes before his hand connected with Frodo's face. He saw stars flash before his eyes as the slaps and punches continued. He knew that he fell to the ground. Griffo's feet, hands, everything… were hitting him…it seemed like it was all over…it had never been this bad before…he wondered what he had done….

The world disappeared from Frodo's eyes as he fell into darkness. 

When he woke up, he was still in the wagon. It still seemed to be night. However, Griffo appeared to have left, and for that Frodo felt grateful. 

He tried to sit up, but the pain all over his body was excruciating. "Well," thought Frodo wryly, "Perhaps I shall not have to work in the fields today." Somehow he doubted that. 

He looked around for something to lean against, but the closest thing was the wall of the wagon, and that was too far away. He felt too tired to even crawl. He lowered himself to the floor of the wagon, allowing sheer exhaustion to creep into his veins. 

Often before he had struggled with why Griffo beat him so mercilessly and not his other children…of course, he knew that it was because he was not Griffo's child. Griffo just didn't like him, and he didn't want to have him there. Why, then, had he taken him from Brandy Hall in the first place? Why did he not just send him back? 

"Of course," Frodo had concluded, "Someone has to work his fields and fix his meals and clean his clothes." He was there to be a servant boy. 

He beat him for particular things he did – at first it was for sleeping too late, forgetting to weed a flowerbed, the sort of things that a foolish child would get in trouble for. Then, it just got to be ridiculous. Sometimes he wasn't weeding fast enough, or the meal was too salty, or he had forgotten to pull a weed. 

Then, he realised that not only did Griffo have a servant, but also a punching bag. He didn't know why Griffo was like that, but that was just how it was. There had been things in Frodo's life that he just had to accept, such as the death of his parents, and this was just another thing to accept as reality.

Frodo let tears slide down his cheeks and allowed himself to feel bitter. He wished that Griffo would die, and his stupid family too, so that he could go and live somewhere else. He hated Griffo's family for standing by and letting it all happen (although he had never stopped to consider if they were getting hurt as well). 

He didn't think that he'd ever be able to stand again. But he knew that he'd have to. He'd face an even worse beating if he didn't. He had to stand up and face it, like a grown hobbit, just like his Uncle Bilbo would want him to do. Just like Griffo wanted. Just as he was expected to. 

He raised his body slowly, the sharp pain searing through his body. If he just ignored it, it would be as if it weren't there. He thought of the elves, the dwarves, of Gandalf, whom he had only seen once, and found that he was standing. Ironically, he nearly fell over in surprise. 

He shuffled out of the carriage and onto the soft ground. The Boffins's smial was just down the dirt path. It was still nighttime to most hobbits, but he could tell that it was nearing 4:00 in the morning. Griffo usually rapped on his door at 5:00. He figured that if he got an early start on some of the chores he would get done early… and then he could rest. 

He walked to the shed. He had to finish the last vegetable patch and then the front flowerbed. That was all that he had to do outside, but he knew that since Griffo was angry with him, he would probably find more for him to do. It was not a pleasing thought. 

He took the hoe off its hook and headed back outside. He decided to do the flowerbed first, since it was closer to the smial. He had to go back inside in about two hours to fix breakfast. Daisy fixed all the in-between meals, but Frodo was expected to fix all the major meals. Griffo's sons always laughed at him when he did and called taunted him (usually by calling him a lass). He rolled his eyes at the thought. He kneeled on the ground and began the tedious chore. 

When it was nearing 6:00., he went into the smial. He had just finished with the flowerbed and he felt rather pleased with himself. His body still ached, but he had done it. (And, inwardly, he thought that there could be nothing that Griffo could find for him to do.) 

He decided to make some flapjacks with some mix that he had made last week. He didn't feel up to making a new batch, since it would mean having to go to the coop for eggs. He buttered the pan and set it over the stove. He walked into the front hall and peered into the looking glass. He gasped at his reflection. His face was bruised all over. His face was paler than usual and his blue eyes were horribly bloodshot. He stooped to the ground and looked at his ankle. It was swollen and twisted in a rather grotesque position. He shrugged. He didn't know what he had been expecting, but it was certainly worse than what he had thought it would be. 

He padded back into the kitchen and started the flapjacks. It was not long before Tom, Griffo's youngest son, came into the kitchen. He was only seven years old.

"Hello, Frodo," he said quietly. 

"Hullo, Tom," Frodo replied. Tom was actually quite nice to him, and he immediately felt guilty for wishing death upon the entire Boffin family. 

"What're you makin'?" asked Tom shyly. 

"Flapjacks," said Frodo, "For breakfast." 

"Mummy said that she liked making breakfast when you were gone to Master Baggins's place. Did you have fun?" 

"Oh, yes," said Frodo dryly. 

'Why're ya back so early?" asked Tom. 

"Your father came and picked me up," said Frodo. He placed a plate of flapjacks on the table. "You can eat now, if you'd like." 

Frodo continued to slip flapjacks well after the entire family was in. He endured a few laughs from Griffo's sons, and Griffo came up to him and said, "I trust that you learned something from last night?" 

"Yes, sir," Frodo muttered. 

"And you have some work to do outside today," he said. 

"I already finished most of it," said Frodo.

"What?" asked Griffo, astonished. 

"After I woke up I went out and weeded the front flower bed," said Frodo. "All I have to finish weeding is the vegetable patch." 

"Well, then you can come with me into town," said Griffo. "I could use some help at the market." Frodo's heart sank.

"I'm not really feeling up to it," said Frodo softly, but Griffo appeared not to have heard him. 

Bingo, one of Griffo's sons that was about Frodo's age, said, "I'll go with you to the market, Father. Poor old Frodo don't look like he's up to it." For once in his life, Frodo felt grateful toward Bingo. He even ignored it when he muttered, "stupid girl" under his breath. 

"All right," said Griffo finally. "I suppose you could come instead, Bingo-lad. You get off easy today, boy." He said, looking at Frodo with a cold stare. 

"Yes, sir," said Frodo, trying to keep the excitement out of his voice. 

"But I'll be working you to the death tomorrow!" he said warningly. 

"Yes, sir," Frodo repeated. He hurriedly finished what little breakfast was allotted to him and ran outside to finish his work. 

He finished three hours later. Daisy had made him wash the clothes, but after that she couldn't find anything for him to do, so she allowed him to have the rest of the day off. 

He walked upstairs to his small room (which was really no larger than a closet, but he was grateful that he had his own personal space). He fell down on the small bed and closed his eyes. The pain that had been building inside him slowly crept over his body and he felt that he'd never be able to move again. 

He had a sudden thought that he shouldn't just lie there, or his ankle would get very swollen, but he found that he just didn't care. He closed his eyes and thought of nothing for a long while.

Then, an idea came to his head. Perhaps while Griffo was gone for the day, he could write a letter to his Uncle Bilbo and send it out. Bilbo was always saying that Frodo never sent mail, so perhaps a letter would ease his worry. Then, remembering the slap that Griffo had given him in front of Bilbo, he knew that nothing would help to ease his worry. But it would be good to try anyway. 

He pulled out his plain white stationery from under his bed, and his pen and ink from behind his lamp. He frowned, wondering how he should start the letter out. 

__

Dear Uncle Bilbo, 

All is well here up in Bindbole. I do hope that you're not too worried over the incident between Griffo and I – he was just angry -

He crumpled that piece of paper up and threw it into a corner. Bilbo would never believe that. Why did he have to lie so much to his own Uncle? He took out another piece of paper and (being angry) started to write. 

__

Dear Uncle Bilbo, 

I want to tell you that everything is all right with me (which I had just stated to do in another letter) but I can't. All is terrible. I can't lie to you any longer, and I can't lie to myself. I hate it up here, I hate Griffo, and I hate Saradoc for putting me here. Griffo was very angry with you (and I) for taking me on a hike. I never expected it, and I guess it is sort of my fault that I'm never going to see you again. I should have expected it. We got back and he beat me terribly…I suppose that I'm worrying you, and I don't want to do that. Maybe I should just start this letter over. Maybe I just shouldn't write to you. But, the fact is, I'll end up sending you this letter anyway. I love you and I miss you. I hope that I shall see you again soon, despite what Griffo said. 

Much love, 

Frodo Baggins 

Frodo looked up from his letter…and he realised that it was horrible. He couldn't send that letter…it would make Bilbo feel horrible and it made Frodo seem so utterly selfish and helpless. He reached under his bead for another piece of stationary, but there was none left. He cursed under his breath and said, "I suppose this is it, or nothing." He looked back at his note and decided to add a postscript. 

__

PS: I am very sorry for the crudeness of this letter, but I have not another piece of stationery to re-write it. 

He frowned and decided that it would have to do. He folded the letter up and addressed it to Bilbo. He wondered how he would deliver it. Possibly he could go now, if he went quietly. 

At that very moment, he heard heavy footsteps. It had to be Griffo. He wondered why…how…he could be back so early. He placed his ears against his bedroom door and heard him say, "…back early, Daisy dear. The trading was good, and I shall have the rest of the day to relax…" He pulled his head away from the door and shook his head. He couldn't go with Griffo at home. He would have to wait until the cover of darkness. 

****

To Be Continued 


	6. Escape

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Walk On

Part 6: Escape 

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Note: I just noticed that in the last chapter I said that Frodo "walked upstairs" to his room. Ah! Hobbits don't have upper stories! I'm thinking like a Big Person! Forgive me! Could you disregard the upstairs part? Thanks for the reviews! :) 

Night fell over The Shire and Frodo remained hidden in his room. For some curious reason, Griffo had let him be almost all day. With the exception of fixing supper, he had no other duties assigned to him for that day. 

He returned from supper, which wasn't bad, and reread his note to Bilbo. He still hated its crudeness, but he no longer cared. He felt so bitter, angry, and resentful that he didn't care what Bilbo thought of his manners, which was rather un-Hobbit-like of him. 

He hid the letter under his pillow and fell into several hours of uneasy sleep, which was often disturbed by nightmares of Griffo beating him. His nightmares always seemed to be so real. 

When he fully awoke from his last nightmare, he noticed that it was completely dark outside. Alarmed, he slid out of his bed and pulled the letter out from under his pillow. He peered through his window. It was only a little past midnight. He would have plenty of time to go to town, leave the letter by the postmaster's office, and go back to his room unnoticed. 

He pulled his tattered cloak off the rusty hook on the wall and put it over his shoulders. He tucked the letter into his hood and walked to the window, careful not to make a sound. Griffo and Daisy slept right next door. He slowly started to open his window, which was slow to open as it was hardly ever opened. Before, Frodo had been too afraid of Griffo to even think about sneaking out of the smial at night. Now he found that he was too resentful of Griffo to care if he found out. If Griffo saw him, he would simply have to make a run for it. Though his ankle was terribly hurt, he could run anyway…perhaps. Perhaps when his ankle was fully healed, he would run. He would run all the way to Bag-End, even if it took him months to get there. But that was not for now. He knew that he would never be able to run from Griffo in his current condition, or at least without motivation. If he had to run, he would. But, otherwise, he would simply walk to town, which would take no more than an hour, and he would deliver his letter. It would be enough for now. Perhaps Bilbo would come to take him away…but he knew that was a lot to hope for. The letter would be enough. 

When the window was fully opened, Frodo pulled himself onto the ledge and slipped out of the smial. The night air felt refreshing on his face. He found that his ankle throbbed worse than ever with pain, but he would endure it. It wouldn't take too long…a nice walk might actually help take his mind off of things. 

He tiptoed through the garden and reached the grass. The town of Bindbole was about ten miles north. Normally it would not have taken him an hour to reach it, but he had to keep his injuries in mind. He had to limp, and limp very slowly at that. He didn't want to injure it further, and besides that he wanted it to heal. It didn't need the strain. 

He limped (knowing full well how ridiculous he looked) up the path. He reached the gate and unlatched it. He could run…but no. That was a silly idea. Griffo would catch him straight in the morning when he noticed he wasn't in his room. He felt barely able to walk, so why risk his health and run? He would have to wait.

He dragged himself down the small country road that led to Bindbole. Now that he thought of it, it was better that he hadn't went in the day. Bindbole was a small town, and if Griffo had been trading there, he would have caught him. Daisy would have missed him, probably. It was best to sneak there at night. 

The minutes passed by and Frodo continued down the road. He had thoughts of stopping to rest, but he knew that he couldn't. He had to hurry…he couldn't get caught. His hurt ankle, bruised back, and broken heart seemed to make the time drag by even more slowly. He wanted to get to town quickly, so he could go back and rest…he would have to work tomorrow. He had to hurry, but he couldn't. 

Perhaps, he thought smiling a little, perhaps one of Bilbo's walking songs would make both the time and distance seem less. He opened his mouth and began to sing softly. 

__

"Upon the heart the fire is red,

Beneath the roof there is a bed;

But not yet weary are our feet,

Still round the corner we way meet –"

Frodo stopped. He thought that he had heard something. But of course! The path was near to the Bindbole Wood! Of course there would be sounds; there were animals in the woods. He was just paranoid; he was afraid that Griffo was there. 

"Although," said Frodo bitterly, "I do have reason to be afraid of Griffo." 

"That you do, lad," said a harsh voice. 

Frodo's eyes opened wide. He turned around as quickly as he could, and there stood Griffo. It had to be a figment of his imagination…how… could _Griffo_ be there? He had been quiet…_how_ had he known? Then, one thought came to his mind: He had to run. He had no other choice; his ankle would have to suffer. He had to get away from Griffo. He was deadly afraid of the madness in Griffo's eyes. He couldn't take another beating, and from a beating he knew he would not have a chance. But he had a chance to run. He had to take it. He ran. 

He ran as he has never ran before, and he was suddenly aware that he had only his cloak with him, and no food, and that he would probably get caught if he didn't run more quickly. He ran into the wood, and he could hear Griffo pursuing him. 

"Curse you!" He heard Griffo shout. "You shall get the beating of your life for this!" 

The pain in Frodo's ankle nearly defeated him, but he could do nothing but go on. He had to go on. Each step felt as if he was walking upon not the forest floor, but of the fiery chasm of eternal damnation itself. He had to keep going…but Griffo was catching up to him. 

"Curse you! I hate you!" he heard himself scream back at Griffo. He increased his pace. He was younger…he could outrun him. He had to. He had to keep going. 

"Stop this instant!" shouted Griffo. Frodo looked back and saw that Griffo was still close. He ran to the left, jumping over a rotting log as he went. Maybe that would throw him off. 

He ran in random directions, but Griffo simply would not be shook off. He felt that he could no longer run. But he had to. He had to go on. Tears were streaming down his face from the pain. He had to find somewhere to hide. He could not keep running for much longer. The pain felt worse than a hundred beatings ever could. But he couldn't get caught. Now was his chance, and he couldn't get beaten by Griffo again. 

Then he saw it. A hollowed out log, just a few paces ahead. If he could get in there in haste, Griffo would not be able to see him. It was dark, and his clothes would blend in. 

He flung himself to the ground and rolled into the log. He crawled into its centre and he lay there like a dead thing. He could hear Griffo's footsteps and his shouting. Then it stopped. There was no noise. Griffo had obviously stopped. He knew that Frodo was close.

Frodo clamped his hand over his mouth to stifle his heavy, gruff breathing. Griffo was walking. 

"I know you're here, boy," he whispered. Frodo said nothing. He felt as if his breathing could be heard leagues away. 

The heavy footsteps continued. Frodo felt some sort of slimy bug fall onto his face. 

"Boy, you'd best answer me! I shall find you eventually!" There was a dead silence. Frodo could not even hear the night owls. 

He heard Griffo curse. Then there were footsteps…was he leaving? Yes. His footsteps were going away…to the east. He was moving on. Somehow, someway, Griffo hadn't seen the log. He waited until the footsteps had faded to take his hand off his mouth and gasp a sigh of relief. He was free…for now. 

****

To Be Continued 

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(Don't worry…there still will be plenty of Frodo-angst though Frodo has 'escaped.') 


	7. Survival

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Walk On 

Part 7: Survival 

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Note: I have officially concluded that this story will be seventeen chapters long, so you have plenty of "Walk On" to enjoy yet. :) And to whoever commented (sorry, can't remember the name): There will be no custody battle between Griffo and Bilbo. But there is still plenty of Frodo-angst left. So, I shall leave you with that to ponder…on with the story! :D 

Frodo stayed in the log for several hours. He was too afraid to even move. He could scarcely believe that he had escaped from Griffo. It hardly seemed real. 

Finally, when dawn was creeping over the forest, Frodo knew that he had to rise. Griffo would be looking for him with all his power, and in the light of day he would catch him where he lie. He would have to hurry, since he needed to get as far away from the Boffins's home as he possibly could. 

He crawled out of the log, the bruises and scrapes on his body aching worse than ever. It hadn't been wise to stay in the log all night. His joints were throbbing with pain and his ankle seemed to be burning with pain. He wondered if there was some way that he could bind it up. 

He supported himself again a tall oak tree and pulled his aching feet to the ground. It was, as he had thought, nearly dawn. He could hear nothing, save for the animals that scurried in the underbrush. He would have time to escape Griffo if he hurried. 

As far as he knew, Uncle Bilbo's lay to the south of Bindbole Forest. He recalled Bilbo's maps of the Shire, and knew that it couldn't be too far.

Of course, he intended to go to Bag-End. He had no where else to go, did he? Suddenly he felt as if he must be a large burden upon Bilbo's shoulders, and felt very guilty about (seemingly) always being at Bilbo's feet for help. 

But he couldn't think about that now. He had to run. Or at least try to run. He found that lying in a cramped position for nearly five hours had not helped his body any. He had to _walk_, for it would do no good to further injure himself (since the bout of running last night had obviously not helped him either). But he had to walk at a steady pace - rather, a quick pace. 

He started down the crude path of the forest floor. Luckily, he had gone hiking with Bilbo more than once, so he knew how to survive in a forest environment. The crucial word was survive…he wasn't sure if he'd be able to make a fire (if that was really necessary) or hunt wild game, but he'd be able to live. 

He knew that he had to go south. Quite honestly, he couldn't remember what the terrain after the Bindbole Forest would be. He had looked at Bilbo's maps before, but he found that he couldn't remember much. 

He did remember, however, that the distance between the two points couldn't be too great. After all, the Shire wasn't that great of an area…and it had taken less than a day to get to Bag-End with a wagon. He wouldn't have to fend for himself for very long. 

The path that Frodo was following was rather rustic and not well travelled on. In several places it stopped altogether. About an hour after Frodo had started, it stopped and didn't continue. Since Frodo wasn't quite sure that he was even going in the right direction, this proved to be frustrating. Now he had to pick his own path in the thick underbrush. 

So Frodo picked his way through the forest, the sun shining hot above him, and twigs catching in his foot hair below him. It got to be so hot that Frodo shed his cloak and rolled up his shirtsleeves. 

Another two hours passed. Surely this forest could not go on much farther. The heat was being to affect Frodo terribly; sweat was pouring down his face and neck. Then again, he thought to himself, not daring to speak, he should be thankful of the forest – without its cover he certainly would have been caught by Griffo already. Griffo probably had organised a searching party – he had a great deal of friends all over. 

Frodo continued to walk until he guessed that it must have been noontime. He was famished and his throat felt scratchy. He stopped in an area that was well shaded and had some gooseberry plants growing in a large thicket. He picked several berries and sat on the roots of a tree to eat. He was unbelievably hungry. He would have eaten some of his Uncle Rory's (a relation from Brandy Hall) disgusting pudding had he been given the choice. 

He finished the last of his berries and stood up. He was contemplating whether he should bring berries for the rest of the journey or no when he heard the noise. Animal, he thought to himself quickly. He was too deep in the forest to be caught by anyone. 

Nonetheless, he set off right away and didn't bother to pick berries. He would more than likely run into more berry bushes along the way. 

He reached the edge of the forest six hours later. The forest must have been larger than he thought. Either that or he had taken a few wrong turns. He couldn't be sure. 

He felt strangely happy when he broke through the trees into the open. He never wanted to see trees again. He hated them. 

He was so hot. By this time, he was completely drenched in sweat. He wished that he had packed different clothes, or at least worn lighter clothes. But he hadn't known that he would be running. 

He was quite surprised that he hadn't run into Griffo. Griffo always found a way to spoil things when they were looking up for Frodo. An example would be his showing up at Bag-End a few days ago, or when Griffo took him to live with him. Griffo always found a way to ruin him and eat his heart out. 

But it didn't matter anymore, he thought with an odd smile. Griffo…Griffo would never be able to get to him again. He swooned a little. 

He had to rest before he went on. Perhaps if he rested now, he could continue outside the forest in the cover of darkness. 

Yes. He walked back into the forest and lay on the ground. He was far enough in so that hopefully no one outside could see him. 

He fell into an uneasy sleep. 

He woke several hours later. He yawned and sat up. His vision was blurred, and it was rather cold out. He shivered and drew his cloak around his shoulders. The sweat on his body only made it seem colder. His ankle throbbed painfully, and his eye could hardly open. He lifted his hand and touched it gingerly. It felt soft and it was swollen. Griffo must have punched him there as well. He had not noticed it before. How strange. 

He got to his feet and walked out of the forest. He could see no edible berries anywhere around him. He was rather hungry, having only eaten berries. It was most certainly not good for a young hobbit's stomach. But he had not the time to search about the forest for food. He had to go on. He had already lost time sleeping. It was past midnight. He no longer had to cover of the forest. He would be spotted more easily by Griffo (and his search party…if he had organised one, which Frodo could not be sure of). Frodo couldn't even be sure if they would be this far south. Frodo wasn't even sure where he was. 

He looked up to the sky and concluded that, by the position of the stars, he was indeed going south. That was good. He strained his mind and remembered that the town of Overhill was directly south of the Bindbole Wood. He would continue due south. 

The country here was grassy and almost bare of all trees. As far as he knew, there was not a settlement for miles. 

His stomach rumbled painfully, and Frodo knew that he had to find something to eat. He felt faint already; he had only been walking for a few minutes. He needed something to eat. He couldn't go back to the forest, for he wasn't sure if there even was anything in there. He suddenly wished that he had stopped and picked berries at noon. Oh well. What was done was done. He simply would have to go without food for a time. He would come across more in time, no doubt.

The hours crawled by, and Frodo grew more and more weary and faint. Finally, after what could have been no more than three hours, Frodo had to rest. He stopped and sat down in a tall patch of grass. It came over his head. He could rest here for awhile and not be caught, he thought to himself. 

He spread himself on the ground and closed his eyes. He felt dizzy…and nauseated. That was funny. He hadn't eaten since noon…well, actually his last meal had been a day ago. He must have been weak. 

Though he felt nauseated, he did not vomit, thankfully. The dizziness faded a little as he lay…but yet it remained. His head also throbbed painfully, and the various other aches in his body sprang into action. He wondered why that always happened when he wasn't moving, he thought to himself in annoyance. When he walked, his ankle was in pain, but since he was limping and not putting any pressure on it at all, it didn't hurt as badly as it did when he was resting. Perhaps that meant that he should start moving. After all, he should probably move more during the night than during the day…he didn't want to be caught by Griffo. 

He rose to the ground and limped off again. It was probably four in the morning, he mused. If there were farmers in the area, they would be waking soon to start their harvesting. It was, after all, nearly August. Perhaps he should stop at the next smial he saw and ask for some food. But no…that was ridiculous. What if they were in league with Griffo? Frodo laughed suddenly; everyone was in league with Griffo, weren't they? Everyone was against him…he laughed again. He wondered if he was going mad. He certainly felt it. 

He squinted. In the distance he saw something. It looked like a sign. Curious, he walked towards it. It was a sign…he walked close enough that he could read it. 

THE WEST FARTHING

Is what it said. Frodo laughed again. If it had taken him so very long to get to the West Farthing from the Bindbole Forest, then he must be truly going very slowly. 

He walked into the West Farthing. He couldn't be more than a few hours' walk from Overhill. That meant that he couldn't be too far from Hobbitton. 

He looked up to sky. Dawn was beginning to break, but it was clouded. Dark clouds were gathering in the sky; it would probably rain. Well, at least it would be a warm rain. 

But there were things about nature that Frodo did not know, and one of them was that weather could change on you so suddenly that you were caught rather off guard. 

****

To Be Continued 


	8. Storms

****

Walk On 

Part 8: Storms 

__

Note: I had some problems with the last part of this chapter…I hope that it's not too terrible. :) 

Dawn broke over the West, and Frodo welcomed the warmth of the sun upon his cool face. He knew that it would soon grow unbearably hot, but for the time being he welcomed the sunlight.

The country had grown hilly since he had entered the West Farthing. Frodo figured that was just as well; it would make it easier for him to hide, if Griffo were to chase after him. Frodo was beginning to doubt that, though…but with Griffo he could never be too sure. He shuddered. Hopefully he would never have to see him again.

How he longed for something to eat! It felt like he hadn't eaten in ages. After he also longed for a nice, warm bath…dirt from the forest was clinging to his body and he felt disgusting. 

He climbed to the top of a particularly large hill when he decided that he needed to rest. He simply felt famished…he couldn't go on much further without food. 

He walked to the hill's bottom and saw another tree. He was so very tired of seeing trees…but…he looked up at it…it was an apple tree! He couldn't believe his good fortune. He stopped underneath its branches and reached up to shake the lowest one. He found that he was quite weak in the arms; he couldn't shake the branches very hard. However, plenty of apples fell to the ground. Frodo dropped to his knees and picked them up. He decided that, this time, it would be smart for his to take some with him. He unclasped his cloak from his shoulders he set it on the ground. In it he placed the apples. He stood up and shook the branch again. The last of the apples fell from the branch. He placed all but one of them in his cloak. It was not very much, but it would have to do. He tied up his cloak into a small knapsack and slung it over his right shoulder. He stood up.

"Hey! Yo! What're you doing in my fields?" Frodo turned about and saw a stout little hobbit – not much different looking than Griffo – standing a few paces behind Frodo. "And stealing my apples nonetheless?"

Frodo thought to reply, but he knew better. He turned in the opposite direction (luckily the way he intended to go) and ran. He had not had good experiences with farmers before. When he had lived at Brandy Hall, Farmer Maggot was always on his case for stealing carrots and mushrooms…he had even been chased away by a pack of dogs once. He shuddered at the memory. 

"Hey!" he heard the farmer shout. Frodo continued to run as quickly as he could, but then found that he could run no further. He was too exhausted. He turned back and looked at the farmer, who was still standing at the bottom of the hill, making a fist at him. He had not chased after him, and for that Frodo felt grateful. He could not have run even if he had needed to. 

The farmer's smial was tucked away in the very hill that Frodo had walked over. He had been so silly that he had walked over somebody's house and not even noticed it! There was not one apple tree, he noticed, but many that were scattered about the large field. He had intruded upon the farmer's orchard. But at least he had food. 

He reached Overhill about two hours later. It was eight in the morning by his reckoning. That meant that there would be people about the markets and shops. He was trying to decide if he should go through town or not. On the one matter, he could stop for food…but then, he had no money. With his torn clothes, tousled hair, and dirt-streaked face, he certainly looked the part of a thief, but he would not reduce himself down to one. That, and Griffo might be there. He was very suspicious that Griffo was somewhere near him…he would not give up on Frodo so easily. 

With those thoughts in mind, he decided that it would be best for him to walk outside of town. He had to start walking southeast to reach Hobbitton. Perhaps he would be able to get there before night fell. That excited him very much.

He walked outside the town-limits to guide him. After he reached the end of the town he would find out what direction he had to go. The sky still looked cloudy. In fact, the clouds were beginning to darken and the air was starting to grow chilly. It would not be a warm rain as Frodo had hoped. It would be cold. That was wonderful. He had used his cloak to wrap up his apples. He was suddenly conscious of the fact that he was still clutching an apple in his right hand. He lifted it up to his mouth and took a bite. The sweet juice spread throughout his mouth and Frodo greedily took another bite. 

So he limped, munching his apple and feeling decidedly happy. Above him the sky continued to darken. 

He had nearly reached the edge of the town when he saw a hobbit standing by a shop of some sort. Frodo frowned and slackened his pace. He had been going rather quickly. 

However, the hobbit appeared to have spotted him. Frodo suddenly wished that he still had his cloak handy to cover his face with. The strange hobbit quickly walked towards Frodo. 

Frodo stopped and decided to wait for the man. Perhaps he was friendly. 

"Hello," said the hobbit. It was not an unkind voice. "Are you Frodo Baggins?" 

He was obviously looking for him. So Griffo had sent out a searching party. His heart sank. "No," he lied, his voice hoarse.

The hobbit chuckled. "Then who are you, and why are you walking about in such untidy clothing?" 

Frodo hesitated. He was not one for making up names. "Bolger," said Frodo suddenly, "My name is Tom Bolger." Frodo winced. That really was a terrible name. 

"Is it," said the hobbit. "Who are your parents? Perhaps I know them." 

"What is that of your concern?" snapped Frodo. He was still a little testy when it came to the subject of his parents. "All I am doing is walking, and here I am, being questioned by a strange hobbit about someone named Frodo Baggins. I do not have any idea who he is." Frodo wasn't a good liar, and he was sure that sounded horribly forced. 

"You don't need to get up and angry with me, young hobbit," said the hobbit. "I am sent by Griffo Boffin to look for his nephew, Frodo. He has been lost since Wednesday. Ran away, actually. You look worn by travel. I notice that your ankle is horribly twisted. So was Frodo's, according to Griffo." 

"I was waylaid in an orchard about two hours back," said Frodo. "He – the farmer - caught me stealing from him. I was given a severe beating." Thunder sounded in the sky above him. It was going to rain soon. 

"I'm afraid that you sound a lot like Frodo Baggins," said the hobbit. "Griffo is in Underhill. Why don't we go to meet him?" 

"I need to get home," said Frodo in alarm. "It is about to rain and my parents -" He winced involuntarily. "—and my parents shall worry if I am not back. I really need to be going." He cut in front of the hobbit and walked quickly away. 

"Frodo?" asked the hobbit. Frodo didn't turn around. He knew that it would be a dead give away. 

"Farewell, good stranger!" said Frodo as cheerfully as he could. 

"I am going to go get Griffo," said the hobbit. 

"It will be a waste of your time," said Frodo. The hobbit did not answer. Frodo turned around. The hobbit was gone…he had went to fetch Griffo. The apples were too much weight on his shoulders. He took the cloak off and dumped the apples on the ground. Rain had started to fall from the sky. Frodo looked around. There was no forest to hide in anywhere in sight. He had to run. Frodo ran for all his life. He ran even faster than when he had been running from Griffo. His ankle was in more pain than it had ever been in. He couldn't stop. He had to keep going. The rain was now pouring from the sky, and the sky was as dark as if it were night. That would be an advantage to Frodo. He hoped that he was going southeast, he thought suddenly. This was all so unfair. 

He quickened his pace. He knew that he was not running fast enough. His ankle was slowing him down. He could barely stand to step on it. The pain was shooting all over his body. He couldn't stop, or the pain would be much worse, he told himself. That was all that kept him going. 

The rain was spilling all around him. The grass was so wet that Frodo slipped on it and nearly fell over several times. His hair was wet and his clothes clung to his body. He wrapped his cloak around him. The lighting flashed brilliantly in the sky. The wind was howling. Perhaps Griffo wasn't following him in this weather. But then again, he probably was. 

Frodo couldn't bear to think any longer. He could only run. He listened to the methodical beat of the rain upon the ground, of the howling wind, and the thunder crashing. He tried not to concentrate on his ankle. 

He squinted. In the distance, there was a road. It must have been the road that led to Hobbiton! All he would have to do is follow the road and he would be there. However, if Griffo knew Frodo's ways (and that he did) he would know that was the way that Frodo would be going. But then again, wouldn't he then think to not take the road, as Frodo would probably think to do? It was all too confusing, trying to analyse Griffo's ways. Frodo didn't know. He decided that it didn't matter. He ran to the road and followed it. He had no other choice. He would surely get lost if he didn't follow the road. It was dark, and Griffo would surely not be able to see him. 

Frodo coughed loudly. Now he was getting a cold. How wonderful. Curse this weather, he thought to himself. He pulled the cloak around his head and continued to run. He hoped that, for his sake, it wouldn't be too much farther to Bilbo's smial. 

There was a sound in the distance. Frodo continued to run, but he strained his ears to hear above the rain and wind. It sounded like shouting…and...ponies galloping? Was it a cart or carriage, possibly? The sound grew louder…it was obviously gaining on Frodo. It could have been Griffo. Though the weather was terrible, Frodo knew that he was out looking for him…he would stop at nothing to find him. 

Exasperated, Frodo looked around for a place to hide. The great hill of Hobbitton was far in the distance. He needed a place to hide – quickly. Frodo stopped running and got off the road. He fell to the ground and saw that there was a small stream a little up ahead. Frodo ran to it. There was a small bridge that went over it. Frodo laughed in relief. He splashed into the water and gasped. It was horribly cold. He waded down its side and went under the bridge. At least the rain had stopped falling on Frodo's head. But his feet and lower legs were deep in the deathly cold water. 

Frodo leaned against the side of the stone bridge and sighed. He could hear nothing above but the sound of the hard rain. Several minutes passed and Frodo still could hear nothing. Then, the galloping started again. It must have been the carriage. There was a great deal of shouting on it – Frodo forced his ear to hear what they were saying…

The carriage came on top of the bridge, and Frodo could hear the shouting clearly. "Are you sure he went this way?"

"Yes -" 

The shouting faded away, as did the sound of the carriage. For several minutes, Frodo did nothing but stand and wait. 

The carriage - it was going to Hobbiton. That had obviously been Griffo and the hobbit from before. Griffo had probably concluded that Frodo was going to Hobbiton, and he probably knew that he intended to go to Bag-End. And obviously, he would get there first. Frodo had to hurry. He splashed out of the water and climbed onto the road. He was so numb with cold that he could barely feel the pain of his ankle. He ran. 

Frodo lost track of the hours. It had to be night. It was very dark. He could no longer run, so he walked hurriedly. The rain continued to pour, and Frodo's cough seemed to get worse. He could no longer feel his toes, and the dirt road had turned to mud. Griffo had probably already reached Hobbiton. This was such strange weather for July! It had to be for Frodo. 

He looked to the east, hoping to see some sign of a town, but he saw only darkness. It couldn't be too far, he rationalised. The road didn't go that far. 

He looked back at the road and, to his amazement, there was a sign not far ahead. Frodo walked closer and noticed that the road divided into two. He looked at the sign. It had an arrow pointing at the smaller path. The word 'Hobbiton' was written neatly underneath it. Frodo grinned. Bilbo couldn't be that far away. He headed down the path. Now he had the unfortunate task of finding Bag-End in such horrid weather. As far as he knew, Bag-end was outside of the town of Bag-End…just a little northeast. In fact, he thought suddenly, the path might be on this very road. But he couldn't be too sure. For now, he thought, he would just follow the road. 

The minutes passed and Frodo continued down the road. Mud was sloshing up on his feet, and the rain continued. It showed no sign of stopping. It was such queer weather for late summer. He wished that the sky would lighten so that he could tell where he was going. But the sky was dark black, and rain was pouring, and the wind was wailing. Frodo's senses were blocked. He just had to keep going. But what good would it do if he got lost?

The ground felt slippery suddenly…he looked down and noticed that he had gone off the road into the grass. He walked backwards and went back onto the road. The road to Hobbiton had divided into two again; that was why he had gone off the road. One path went west; the other to the northeast. There was no sign, thought Frodo in annoyance. It had probably blown over in the wind, or there had never been a sign to begin with. He was pretty sure that if went straight, it would take him straight into town. Since Bilbo lived outside of town, he decided to take the path that led north. He looked to the ground and followed the path as closely as he could. The rain seemed to be falling even harder, though Frodo didn't see how that was possible. 

Lightning flashed in the sky and thunder rumbled. Frodo used to be scared of storms when he was a small child; he could remember when he used to climb into bed with his parents when he got too scared of the lightning. He used to be frightened to the very core of him of lightning. Now he knew that it was only a force of nature…but he still hated it, and he was losing faith in himself with every step that he took. He would never be able to find a smial, let alone his Uncle Bilbo's smial, in this type of weather. He had been lucky enough to make it to Hobbiton without being caught by Griffo. Luckily, that hobbit that had questioned him had been rather stupid. 

But there could not be too much luck left for him now. When he looked to the side of him, he could see only darkness, but there may have been a smial there. He may have already passed by Bag-End. 

Frodo was tired, scared, and he felt that he could no longer go on…he had gone on for long enough. 

A brilliant flash of lightning lit up the sky, and for a second the entire area was illuminated. Frodo found that he was looking straight at a smial…a rather large smial, with a huge garden. Was it…could it be? The lighting flash dissipated and the sky became dark again. Frodo no longer cared. It had looked like Bag-End…and perhaps he was delusional, but he had to try…knock, maybe….

He ran straight ahead, off the path into the grass. If he had been thinking more, he would have remembered that a path led to Bag End and the rest of Bagshot Row. But he ran through the grass and ran into something hard. He inched along it and found that it did not end…for a moment Frodo was confused…but then he remembered…of course, it must have been the gate. He let his hands feel all around its surface, and he found the latch. He fumbled around with it and it opened. Frodo ran inside and didn't bother to close it. He tripped against something and fell to the ground. He grasped at the ground, blinded by the wind. He was on the steps that led to the door of Bag-End…that's where he had to be. He found that he could not get up to his feel, so he crawled up the stairs. He felt like the stairs would be endless.

But finally, he reached a point where there were no more stairs. Frodo hesitated and then reached blindly out. His hand hit against something hard. He was at the door. He reached up with both hands and grabbed the doorknob. He pulled himself to his feet. Frodo took a death breath, and slowly he reached out with his right hand and knocked on the door. 

****

To Be Continued 


	9. Comfort

Walk On  
  
Part 9: Comfort  
  
Notes: I am so..exceedingly.sorry.for the wait. I really am. I feel really bad about making all of you wait a long time to wait for this. But I'm promise that it'll be worth the wait. It's no longer seventeen chapters - it will be twenty-three. Also, I have a sequel in mind. I don't know why I was gone so long. I still love writing. "But...uh...I forgot." -My frequent excuse as to not handing homework in. ;)  
  
"In your endless summer night, I'll be on the other side. When the water is too deep, I will ease your suffering." -Hole  
  
The door opened after only one knock, and Frodo stumbled into the warmth, unaware that he was even falling.but he was caught by something. Confused, he looked up. It was his dear Uncle Bilbo.  
  
"Bilbo?" he muttered, feeling slightly confused. He had almost convinced himself he had knocked on the wrong hole. He thought he would be looking up at Griffo's horrible, oily face. But he wasn't.  
  
"Frodo, my lad!" he heard Bilbo say shakily - or perhaps it was just his mind going in and out of focus. "I'm so glad you're here. I've been expecting you."  
  
"Expecting me?" he asked blearily. "Why would you be expecting me?" He felt Bilbo pick him up and walk.  
  
"Why, people have been knocking at my door all night," he replied. They entered the study - a warm room piled with books. But, above all, it contained several squashy armchairs centred a huge, crackling fireplace. Bilbo placed him in one of them, and hurriedly waddled across the room, in search of something. "They've been looking for you."  
  
"Me," Frodo stated rather than asked. "I suppose Griffo has shown up."  
  
"No," Bilbo said shortly. "Not yet, at least." He found a blanket on one of the other chairs, and brought it back over to Frodo's chair. Bilbo wrapped it around Frodo's small, shivering body. Suddenly, Frodo realised that he was soaking wet. He would ruin Bilbo's chair if he just continued to sit. He immediately tried to hoist himself out of the chair.  
  
"My dear boy, what in Middle Earth are you doing?" asked Bilbo as he watched Frodo attempt to lift himself from the chair.  
  
"I'm wet," Frodo said in explanation. "I'm going to ruin your chair!"  
  
Bilbo snorted. "Apparently, Griffo has taught you to be skittery, if nothing else." Frodo frowned.  
  
Seeing the look on Frodo's face, Bilbo let his bitterness toward Griffo fade. "Don't fret about the chair," he said softly. "But I probably should find some warm clothes for you to change into."  
  
Silence fell over the room. Frodo's ankle throbbed with pain, though he was sure it would heal with just a little rest. The bruises on his back from Griffo's most recent punishment throbbed too. But, other than that, he felt fine. He was warm - a little wet - but at least he had a place to sleep that night. He had definitely been in worse conditions than this.  
  
"I don't want to leave the house," Bilbo continued after a few minutes of silence. "I don't want someone to show up while I'm gone and see you in here. Otherwise I'd fetch you some clothing from the Gamgees. They have a boy just around your age."  
  
"Who would come?" asked Frodo in some alarm.  
  
"Oh," Bilbo said. "One of Griffo's cronies, perhaps. As I've said, they've been showing up all night."  
  
"They're here?"  
  
"I'm afraid so."  
  
Frodo sighed. "I can't escape from him... no matter where I go."  
  
"Frodo..." Bilbo said, his voice trailing off. He inhaled deeply, feeling a deep twang of remorse in his heart. Why should this boy - so young - suffer so much? He had already lost his parents. He had been shuffled around to various homes, like a worthless piece of trash. He ended up in the home of a complete monster. What else could possibly happen?  
  
"I'll go to my room," he said finally, "and see if I have any night-shirts that will fit you." He somehow doubted he would, for he was about two times bigger around the waist than Frodo. "I'll only be gone a minute."  
  
"All right," agreed Frodo, and Bilbo trotted out of the room. Frodo groaned. He hoped Bilbo wasn't too ashamed in him. He had seen the look in his eye earlier when he called him 'skittish.' He was skittish. And weak. He felt burning humiliation in the pit of his stomach. He imagined, suddenly, what he must look like. He was dirty - he could feel it in his hair and on his body. He probably stunk. His right ankle stuck out in a grotesque direction. He was awful.  
  
Bilbo returned a few minutes later. He was carrying a long, white nightshirt probably made of a very fine material.  
  
"Here you are," he said, attempting a cheerful tone. "This may be a little big on you, but it was the smallest I could find in my own closet." He handed it to Frodo. Frodo took it.  
  
"Now, for getting it on," Bilbo said.  
  
"I can do it myself," Frodo said quickly. Bilbo raised an eyebrow and took a swift glance at one of Frodo's hairy feet, which stuck out awkwardly from underneath the thick blanket.  
  
"Are you sure?" Bilbo asked suspiciously.  
  
"Yes, Uncle," Frodo said.  
  
"All right then, lad," Bilbo replied. "I'll go in and fix you some tea, then. I think after that you should get off to bed. You've obviously had a long day." He looked at Frodo awhile, as if unsure that he could even move. Finally, he walked out of the room, graciously allowing Frodo some privacy.  
  
Frodo made sure Bilbo was completely out of sight. After a few moments, he rose slowly from the chair, steadying himself with its two arms. His ankle throbbed even harder. He eventually stood up completely and let go of the armchair. He swayed violently, but managed to stay upright. He unbuttoned his shirt - which was muddy, wet, and torn in several spots. He threw it onto the polished floor. He unbuttoned his breeches and let them fall to the floor as well. He took the smooth, white nightshirt off the chair and slid it over his head. It probably was made of the finest material, and Frodo would probably soil it.  
  
Once he was dressed, he fell back into the chair, exhausted. His ankle felt as if it was going to fall off. That, of course, was an exaggeration, but it did hurt terribly. He hadn't had a worse sprain in his life.  
  
Bilbo soon came back in with a steaming mug of tea. He handed it to Frodo, who sipped in the delicious liquid greedily. He hadn't drunk anything in - well, a long time. His mouth greeted it eagerly, and his stomach even more so.  
  
Bilbo sat in the chair next to Frodo. "We'll have to do something about that ankle tomorrow," he said, eyeing Frodo's now-exposed ankle. "I'll call for Dr. Bolger first thing in the morning."  
  
"I'm sure it will be fine by morning," Frodo replied. "You needn't trouble yourself, Uncle."  
  
"Nonsense." He said snappily. "You're injured, and I won't just let you sit back and take the pain."  
  
"But, Uncle..."  
  
"End of discussion," he said. His voice was stern, but his eyes twinkled slightly. The minutes passed, and Frodo continued to sip the hot tea. Finally, his voice softened from the eariler order, he said, "I think it's time for you to go to bed."  
  
"Yes," Frodo replied. His tea was nearly gone, and his eyelids felt heavy upon his eyes.  
  
"And tomorrow," Bilbo continued, "I will send for Dr. Bolger. After you see him, we will talk about your life at the Boffins. I will also be contacting Saradoc Brandybuck concerning this matter." Frodo's heart leapt. He wouldn't have to go back to Griffo. Was it possible? Was he finally free?  
  
"Yes, Uncle!" Frodo said happily. Bilbo chuckled. He picked up the boy and headed toward Frodo's favourite guestroom. This time, Frodo did not resist the help, for he had already fallen asleep.  
  
~*~  
  
Frodo awoke slowly the next morning. He had dreamt last night, though everything had been bleary and vague. He heard a voice in the kitchen, and wondered whom Bilbo could be talking to at such an early hour.  
  
He felt a dull pain in his ankle, but it had subsided from the incessant throbbing of last night. He, in fact, felt much better than he had felt in many days. He had actually slept last night. It was completely uninterrupted and undisturbed from any nightmares.  
  
He heard the voices coming closer to his room and curiosity rose in him. He wondered who it was.  
  
The door opened, and in stepped Bilbo and a fat (well, fatter than most), joyous-looking hobbit.  
  
"Good morning, Frodo-lad," Bilbo said cheerfully. "I trust you slept well."  
  
"Indeed I did," Frodo said.  
  
"Excellent," he replied. He gestured to the fat hobbit. "This is Dr. Bolger. I sent for him early this morning, but I did not have to, apparently. You slept through first and second breakfasts...and elevenses."  
  
Frodo laughed. "I'm sorry," he said.  
  
"Don't be," said Dr. Bolger. He had a booming, kindly voice. "The sleep probably did you good if the story Bilbo told me is true."  
  
Frodo felt a little uncomfortable. He hoped Bilbo wouldn't tell too many people about his experiences at the Boffins. Now Bolger would think of Frodo and weak and childish.  
  
If Frodo showed his uneasiness, neither Bilbo nor Dr. Bolger noticed. Bilbo dragged the rocking chair by the window to a position closer to the bed. Bolger set his bag onto the floor and said, "Now, Frodo. Let's see that ankle."  
  
Frodo shrugged the blanket off his legs and exposed the injured ankle.  
  
Bolger peered down at it. He took it in his hands and examined it carefully. He felt around it, which caused Frodo to cry out in pain.  
  
"The swelling isn't as bad as it was last night," Bilbo noticed.  
  
"It doesn't hurt as much as it did," added Frodo.  
  
Dr. Bolger nodded. "It doesn't seem to be broken," he said. "And the excess pain you felt last night was likely caused by over-usage. I suggest that you stay off your feet as much as possible for at least a week."  
  
Bilbo nodded. "He'll move only when necessary." He glanced quickly at Frodo. "Right, my lad?"  
  
"Of course," he said.  
  
"I could give you a draught to be taken two times daily," Bolger said. "It would wean off some of the pain."  
  
Bilbo nodded again. "Please do," he said.  
  
Bolger stood up and covered Frodo with the blanket. "Now, get some rest," he said as he left the room.  
  
"I'll be right back with some food, Frodo," Bilbo said. He followed Dr. Bolger out of the room.  
  
Frodo fluffed his pillows up and propped himself against them. He felt wide awake, and didn't feel like sitting around. He wished he had a book.  
  
He sat in comforting silence for quite awhile; finally, Bilbo came back into the room, with a tray filled with toast, eggs, and bacon.  
  
"Here's your breakfast," said Bilbo needlessly. "Though it could be considered more of a lunch."  
  
"Thank you, Bilbo," Frodo laughed, and accepted the tray contentedly. His face fell seriously and he added, "I don't know how I'll ever be able to thank you for all you've done for me."  
  
Bilbo smiled and stroked Frodo's dark curls. "You don't need to, my boy,  
  
he said lovingly.  
  
TO BE CONTINUED 


End file.
